


Flash of Neon

by notmyyacht



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Gen, Whump, post-October Surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barba knew he was being followed. He first spotted them in the coffee shop early that morning. The man behind him was wearing neon yellow sneakers. Even then, he didn't think much of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flash of Neon

**Author's Note:**

> Based off an anon prompt from tumblr: alex munoz goes after barba for tainting his reputation by egging on his followers. Barba gets hate along with verbal and physical abuse because people are upset at munoz losing the election.
> 
> Poor Barba <3

Barba knew he was being followed. He first spotted them in the coffee shop early that morning. They were in line behind him. He wouldn’t have thought anything of them if it wasn’t for the heavy breathing down his neck. He rolled his shoulders and glanced at his feet. The man behind him was wearing neon yellow sneakers. Even then, he didn’t think much of it.

He saw a flash of neon yellow sneakers again on his way to the SVU precinct. He shifted in the backseat of the cab. It’s New York City. They’ve probably passed a hundred people wearing those same shoes.

At the start of an arraignment, he spotted them again at the back of the courtroom. The sickly neon yellow stood out against the heels and custom leather shoes a majority of the people were wearing. Barba craned his neck to look through the crowd of standing people. When everyone sat down, the shoes were gone.

An overwhelming sense of unease filled his stomach as he exited the courthouse. He stood at the top of the stairs.

 _You’re just being paranoid_ , he told himself. The invading scent of tobacco pulled him away from his thoughts. He turned his head to find the source.

There he was. A man in his early thirties stood at the bottom of the first set of stairs, his neon yellow sneakers stood out against his casual, but darker attire of jeans and a dark gray blazer. His bright blue eyes pierced right through him. The man smiled, put out his cigarette on the step, and walked off.

Benson knew there was something off when she visited him in his office an hour later to talk about a case. Usually he would be relaxed in his chair, reading over whatever Benson had brought for him. Instead Barba couldn’t sit still, nor did he even open the file. Benson watched him sit on the couch then walk over to his desk, then back to the couch, only to sit for half a minute before moving over to the table.

When he went to go sit back down, Benson firmly grabbed his arm. Barba finally made eye contact with her for the first time since she arrived.

"What’s wrong?"

"I’m being followed." There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"By who?"

Barba settled back onto the couch. Benson sat with him.

"I don’t know, but I’ve been seeing him all morning." Barba told her about the neon shoes, how the creep had stared at him at the courthouse.

Benson drove Barba home and insisted on coming up to make sure the man following him wasn’t already there waiting for him.

Barba waited outside his apartment, his fingers tapped nervously against his thigh. He lived on the second floor. A comfortable place that was probably a bit too big for a bachelor, but Barba liked the space.

There was a creak, then Benson poked her head out the door.

"All clear," she said. Barba nodded and stepped inside the apartment. He casually noted the single creak in the floorboard just beyond the foyer.

 _I should do something about that_ , he thought.

"I’m going to have someone come and watch overnight," said Benson. Barba wanted to protest that he didn’t need the NYPD to babysit him, but he knew Benson wouldn’t have any of it. For once he kept his mouth shut.

The door closed behind Benson with a definite  _click_. Barba set his briefcase down and loosened his tie. He relaxed a bit. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. He was safe.

He shrugged off his coat and flung it over a chair as he walked toward the bedroom. He slid his shoes off and collapsed back onto his bed. He stared up at the ceiling. Everything was fine.

Barba mindlessly slid his hand under the pillow. His fingers brushed against something smooth. Paper. He pulled it out and held it out in front of him. He froze.

On the single sheet of paper in red, rough capital letters was the word TRAITOR.

Barba jumped to his feet, wildly looking around his room.

 _Someone was in here! They were_ in here _!_

Barba’s heart pounded in his chest as he flattened himself against the nearest wall, the piece of paper crumpled in his hand.

_Got to call Liv! Got to…_

Barba rushed back into the living room for his cell. He fumbled with his blazer pockets. He knew he had put it in his inner breast pocket. He  _always_  kept it there. Maybe he didn’t his time? He searched his coat pockets. Nothing. He patted down his pants pockets, just in case. Nothing. Where was his Goddamn phone!?

 _Doesn’t matter. Gotta call Liv_ , thought Barba, practically leaping for his landline he never used. There wasn’t even a tone on the other end. Who the hell could have unplugged it?

He went to the open window. Maybe the lookout was there already? Barba’s eyes searched for a police cruiser on the street. A floorboard creaked behind him.

 _I should do something about that,_ he thought. His eyes widened. A memory of closing the living room window that morning flashed through Barba’s mind. He couldn’t recall opening it. When Benson brought him home the window was closed and the floorboard creaked.

Barba didn’t have time to turn around. One moment he stood at the open window, the next a strong arm was throwing him across his coffee table. The same hand pulled him up by the front of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet. A punch to the gut knocked the wind out of him and he doubled over. Barba gasped for breath as he stared down at the yellow neon shoes he had been seeing all day.

In a flash the shoes were gone and Barba’s head was being smashed into the wall over and over. All support left him and he crumpled to the floor. The room was spinning and he was sure his mouth was bleeding.

Neon Shoes delivered a sharp kick to the side. Barba groaned. He reached out an arm to try and pull himself away.

Someone make the room stop spinning!

One of the neon shoes hovered over Barba’s outstretched arm. He could hear the bastard laughing as that foot came down and Barba heard a loud  _crack!_

Barba screamed and tried to wriggle away, but fuck everything  _hurt_.

He squeezed his eyes closed and prayed that it would be over soon. He could hear the man walking around him. Barba mustered up all the strength he could and opened his eyes to look up at the bastard. Those piercing blue eyes stared down at him.

"See?" he said, "this is what happens when you betray your friends, Mr. Barba." The man shook his head.

"What kind of cold, selfish bastard sells out his own friend on the verge of that friend’s biggest career move? I guess all lawyers are scum. Isn’t that right, Mr. Barba?"

The room was still spinning and Barba still couldn’t move. He lay his head on the floor in defeat.

One of those neon yellow shoes hovered right in front of his face. He watched as it swung back and came barreling toward him.

 

Barba knew Benson wanted to apologize when she saw him, so he told the nurses that he didn’t want any visitors. He wasn’t ready for the apologies that weren’t necessary. It wasn’t her fault.

Aside from that, he just didn’t want to talk to anyone… except maybe if Eddie came to visit him. Eddie didn’t blame him, never did. Perhaps it was better if he didn’t see anyone during his stay in the hospital. It hurt to talk. Even with the pain killers, it still hurt. Everything still hurt.


End file.
